Bundles of Love
by Siaera
Summary: Bella's not okay. Not all of the time, but who said you have to be okay all of the time? Sometimes getting out of bed is the hardest thing to do; but that's okay - who said you can't carry your bed round with you? Sometimes Bella doesn't want to leave her bundle of bedding, but that's okay; because Edward has Bundles and Bundles of Love. AH. One shot. M for future continuation.


**Hello, I'd like to briefly introduce myself.**

 **I'm Siaera (pronounce it how you like) and this is my first fanfiction. Whilst at the moment this is a simple one shot, I'd like to think that perhaps in the future, this will be continued into a multi chaptered fic, which is why it is also rated M... but who knows?**

 **With nothing else to say besides enjoy, please note this fanfic is set in England, although the location is not mentioned, there are many British references throughout which are listed at the bottom.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own 'Twilight', nor do I own any of the characters. They are the property of Stephenie Meyer.**

* * *

Sunlight peeked through the blinds casting several rays of heat to strike out gently warm my bare skin. It was a familiar feeling, one I associated with soft, slow Sundays; the one day of the week I allowed myself to wake naturally with the sunrise. Most likely just before eight am, I stirred and shifted amongst the sheets. Despite having a fairly large double bed, the idea of having a certain side to which I only slept on was a foreign concept to me – why buy an entire bed if you only intend to use half of it? This morning was no different, I lay naked as the day I was born in a hospital ten minutes away by foot, sprawled with my head wedged firmly between the gap of my two pillows. Bringing my arms up and then outward in time with my swinging legs, I was startled to feel softness teetering on the very edge of my bed. This warm, soft thing was held together extremely tightly, I could feel with the very tips of my fingers the effort exuded from this being to hold themselves together. Nudging my face out of its cocoon, I was shocked to find a pair of deep brown eyes alertly glaring back at me.

The pair of eyes belonged to none other than Little Miss Bella Swan and almost instantaneously the events of the previous night flooded back to me.

With the gradual movements of a slightly hungover, incredibly tired, six foot odd man; I rolled on to my back and cast another gaze in the direction of one of my companies newest interns... who was currently curled in the tightest of balls, butt naked, sneaking frequent looks at me from underneath the duvet cover.

Her hair was in disarray, a complete contrast to the side plait I was used to seeing it in; similarly her eyes had dark rings created by the smearing of various eye products from the night before – unlike the natural look she tended to sport.

I scratched my chest chasing away an errant itch and waited for one of us to disturb the peaceful silence that had settled in the room; it stretched between us and laid thick in the air with a slight undertone of unease.

"Good morning."

There was a squeak and suddenly my view of Bella disappeared under the thick muted grey duvet.

With a grin threatening to break into a full blown smile, I swung my legs round and out the bed padding hesitantly to my bathroom down the hall.

I could feel her eyes on me, or rather on my naked arse and for some reason that made me happy. A Sunday morning kind of happy.

Returning a few minutes later, teeth brushed, pyjama bottoms donned and phone calls made, my walk was more of a saunter as I was now a man on a mission. There was a purpose to this sombre Sunday morning, I had a purpose to fulfil, and fulfil it I shall.

...

"So we've established you're hungry, but I can't feed you unless you tell me what you want."

Popping a squat, I spoke in gentle, hushed tones with the tiny woman who sat perched quite like a frightened bird on the edge of my sofa. Wrapped up in my bedding, she resembled a marshmallow of sorts dipped in melted milk chocolate with her – still unruly – hair plopped on top.

I tilted my head seeking out her eye contact whilst trying to separate the previous impression I had garnered of Bella, real name Isabella, Swan compared to this fragile, timid, wisp of a girl.

With a sigh, I folded up and out of the awkward position I was in and strolled over to the conservatory. I doubted Bella would open up to me anytime soon and there were more pressing issues at hand.

I could hear his yapping distinctly despite the static, grainy voice of BBC Radio 1 filtering in from the breakfast bar. His paws danced up and down the glass door in a hurried motion as he spotted me, bright pink tongue lolling out to one side and his hind legs hopping from one to the other; quite the spectacle.

As I pushed open the sliding doors into the garden, Holmes rushed off right down the very end of greenery towards the shrubbery and giant pile of weeds which I'd rather not think about, lest mention; for thought of uprooting such beastly things gave me migraines.

The air was nippy, biting almost and I was topless. It's funny how they say dogs resemble their owners, because in that very moment they couldn't have spoken truer words for I was now similarly bouncing from one foot to the other.

"Come on Holmes! We haven't got all bloody day."

His tiny body came darting up from goodness knows where as he tore down the path running towards me. He circled around my feet and jumped up to finally greet me after his late morning piss as I shut the door and walked back towards my sitting room, breathing in his heady scent of outdoors, wood and all round dog.

He started to stir and fidget when he realised there was a new person, a new scent he hadn't encountered before sitting bundled up right before his very eyes.

I approached Bella slowly, keeping eye contact as she watched me from the very top of the blanket.

"So, Holmes meet Bella. Bella meet Holmes."

Holding his warm body, I stretched Holmes out towards Bella intending for him to sniff her and perhaps even throw a lick her way; but instead Bella's bare slender arms snuck out of their warm confines and took my dog from me. It was the most I had seen from her since last night, where flashes of supple skin and breathy moans flicked through my mind like one of those really old slideshows.

She held Holmes in a similar fashion to myself before hesitantly bringing him closer where he immediately licked her nose. She let out a squeal, this time smiling.

God, she had such a beautiful smile.

He sat on her mountains of duvet, his tail wagging furiously as peals of laughter sounded from this enchanting woman. All of a sudden, I felt like I was intruding on a touching personal moment and with that elephant in the room that I'd rather not glance at, I went to prepare a late breakfast, almost lunch – a brunch. A Sunday mid morning brunch.

...

I mopped up the last of the Heinz Baked Bean sauce with the toasted bread before popping it in Bella's waiting mouth and narrowly avoiding Holmes' eager one.

She chewed pleasantly, contently. She was the type to enjoy her food and perhaps if she wasn't so hungry as she was today, she'd most likely be the type to savour the moment and take in the ambience or whatever critics like to write about in The Guardian nowadays.

"Another?"

"...another."

It was the first thing she had spoken to me all morning, I cast a glance at the clock that sat above the fireplace; forget that, it read quarter past twelve, all afternoon.

Yanking the metal lid off the ridged tin can, I tipped the contents into a pot and placed it on the hob before setting about toasting another piece of bread, hopefully right this time.

Bella liked hers lightly toasted with a hint of warm brown stretching across the surface, but not too brown, so I had found out, sighing as I looked at the various slices of Hovis seeded bread that mocked me from the bin.

As I wasted yet another slice that wasn't toasted to perfection, a whine, too unhappily to be canine, sounded from the front room and I threw a look over my shoulder to find Bella moping at me.

She was hungry, I knew that.

"What do you want me to do sweetheart? This isn't Jamie Oliver's Fifteen Minute Meals, I can't cook any faster."

She blushed a beetroot pinkish red and ducked under the duvet, Holmes now yapping at her sudden disappearance.

I soon returned with her third plate to find my dog now embedded beneath layers of duvet with his small head poking out of the top underneath Bella's chin. And unless she had previously gotten dressed whilst I was otherwise occupied, she was still naked under there.

Eating her beans on toast slowly, her eyes never left mine as I offered her forkful after forkful and slowly but surely that deer in the headlights look that burned bright in her pupils simmered down and it seemed she breathed a soft sigh of relief as resignation filtered into those coffee brown irises I had grown to love.

"Hello again."

"Hello."

She paused, hesitated before asking, "How bad was it?"

"Not your worse, or so I've heard. But manageable."

Casting her gaze down she toyed with Holmes' collar.

"If lost please return to Edward Cullen."

Again, another pause. I had heard it was like this sometimes, the stumbling in and out was difficult.

"I wish I had one of these, 'If lost please return home' tags."

"Oh yeah? And where is home? For you, that is."

Her eyes glanced up to mine as she squeezed Holmes tighter and leant forward, soundly placing a kiss on my lips.

* * *

 **Common British Terminology/Definitions (in order of appearance):**

 **Duvet - Sometimes referred to as a 'quilt' (however, they are two different things)**

 **Arse - Ass**

 **Conservatory - Sometimes referred to as a 'sunroom', it's a building made up of mainly windows added on to the back of a building, usually houses as an extension so that users can enjoy the scenery with shelter.**

 **BBC Radio 1 - A popular British radio station**

 **Piss - British slang for 'urine' also used informally to insult eg 'Piss off' = 'Go away'**

 **Heinz Baked Beans - A popular brand of baked beans in England**

 **The Guardian - A British newspaper**

 **Hob - British term for a kitchen stove, sometimes referred to as a 'stove', 'range' or simply a 'cooker'**

 **Hovis - A British company that produces flour and bread**

 **Jamie Oliver's Fifteen Minute Meals - A show starring chef Jamie Oliver in which he showcases a variety of meals one can cook in fifteen minutes or just under**


End file.
